


Try to make it look easy (gonna make it look good)

by noxelementalist



Category: Zoom (2006)
Genre: Aftermath, Coming of Age, Community: smallfandombang, First Kiss, Food, Food as a Metaphor for Love, James Bond References, M/M, Slang, Slice of Life, Tea, references to trauma, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-05
Updated: 2019-04-05
Packaged: 2020-01-05 05:58:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18360017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noxelementalist/pseuds/noxelementalist
Summary: Connor’s readjusting to regular life as fast as he can. Enter Dylan.





	1. Tucker

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Small Fandom Big Bang 2018. Title from “Everyday Superhero” by Smash Mouth. The glorious, glorious artwork is by Amoredition, and can be seen [ here.](https://amoredition.livejournal.com/8167.html)

****  


“Disco _died_?!”

Connor stared at the black monitor that they’d set up for him in the small barracks room in disgust. “I got sucked into an evil, death-spiraling, Gamma-13 irradiated vortex for _this?_ ”

It was a suitably awkward end for what had been an awkward day, starting with the ride they’d taken back to Area 52 after Connor _hadn’t_ killed Jack and everyone in sight.

 

 

[ _Connor watched his not-so-little little brother lead a whole team to yell at a military general before ushering them, him, and even Mr. Pibb onto what Connor remembered as a semi-broken UFO, one that was clearly not-so-broken anymore. The older girl member of the team, whose name Connor hadn’t quite caught, had stared at the panel before somehow causing the UFO to lift up and zoom through the sky into the drive-through of a Wendy’s, of all places._

They look like a good group _,_ _Connor thought as he listened to them place their orders from the back of the UFO. There were four of them— five, with Jack— dressed in white uniforms that flattered the older two members but looked ridiculous on the younger two. All of them looked painfully young standing next to Jack and his black Lycra-like suit, Connor realized, enough so that Connor tugged at his own faded red outfit in the hopes the fit would make him look adult in contrast. But they all seemed comfortable around each other, leaning into each other’s space as they yelled through the drive-through speaker, and a short moment later Mr. Pibb slowly hobbled over on his robotic feet to hand Connor a chocolate milkshake while Jack and the rest of his team sprawled out in the front of the UFO, regrouping as they ate._

_“Thanks Pibb,” he said, taking the cool Styrofoam cup from him.  “Now how do I…oh, right,” Connor muttered as he slowly pursed his lips around the straw of the milkshake and inhaled, hoping that his memories of how to drink something through a straw were still true even though he hadn’t had anything to drink back in the Vortex._

_They were. The milkshake that shot up the straw tasted less milky and more like chocolate frosting, sweet and kinda powdery, but it was the best thing he’d tasted in thirty years._

_Mr. Pibb tugged on his pants, beeping curiously._

_“Yeah, Pibb, it tastes fab,” Connor mumbled back around the straw of the milkshake. “Thanks.”_

_The robot beeped in confirmation at Connor, before slowly turning and moving back towards the front of the ship himself, where it apparently turned off, clunking down onto the floor with a soft whirring noise._

_Connor found himself inhaling the milkshake in a matter of minutes, resting the empty cup between his feet with a quiet sigh of contentment. “That hit the spot. Glad to see there’s at least still food around,” he murmured as he leaned back against the wall of the UFO. “Hey Ace, too bad you—”_

_Connor grew quiet. He had turned to tease Ace about how good that had been, seeing as how her chocolate allergy meant she couldn’t have it, but there was another reason now the flying teen wonder couldn’t have had it— or Marksman, or Darathia, whose sweet tooth would’ve loved a milkshake._

_The reason being it was thirty years since he’d killed them._

Bogus, _Connor thought numbly, feeling his shoulders tighten as he began to process what it meant that he’d been gone for thirty years, and that he’d been a murderer for the same amount of time._ Thirty years…man, I bet Steve Rogers never had to deal with things like this.

 _The realization was soon followed by the realization that thirty years actually meant thirty_ years _.  That it meant that really was Jack at the front with a whole new group of Zeniths._

_“Better close my eyes before the questioning starts, because I am not explaining anything today,” Connor muttered softly to himself as he closed his eyes, hoping if he spent the rest of the flight looking like he’d fallen asleep in the back nobody would come over and ask him about what it all had been like. About what being in the Vortex had been like. What he thought of Jack’s new team in their white, cloth-like uniforms._

_He’d been right about that too. Nobody had come over until the UFO had pulled into the hangar, the sidewise motion of the disc waking Connor just in time to hear his brother Jack whisper “hey Connor, let’s get off this Frisbee,” in exactly the way Jack had never woken him all those years before._

_It wasn’t until they were all on the ground that he heard the youngest of the new team (_ Cindy, _Connor reminded himself_ , Jackie called her Cindy _) ask the one question he’d forgotten all about._

_“Mr. Shepard?” she had asked Connor’s younger brother. “Where’s Mr. Concussion going to sleep?”]_

 

The end result of that conversation was that Connor had been placed in what had quickly become a familiar, small barracks room where the others had their rooms for the duration of the day. He’d been left there on the its rough twin bed, along with a black monitor Ed— Connor was _not_ going to call him Dr. Grant, Connor was just as grown up as he was— had told Connor connected to the internet. Next to it sat a small bag of chips labelled “Cool Rancho Nachos” that one of the new team members had given in him, saying Connor was probably going to need a snack once he started catching up on everything he had missed.

Connor had eaten the bag first, taking all of ten minutes to get used to the sensation of tasting artificial seasoning and starchy, crackly corn chips again. _It better not take me that long to get used to eating again_ , Connor had thought as he checked out the room again, hoping to find something besides a bed and small black monitor. Eventually he found a desk crammed on its side into the closet, which he took out to set up, along with a small chair he’d found hiding behind it.

Getting all of that in order had taken about another ten minutes.

“Right, time to try the internet,” Connor had muttered, reaching towards the box.

The box had opened on its side like a suitcase, revealing a keyboard on one side and the screen on the other. There hadn’t been any cables, but there’d been a small button labeled with a line cutting through a circle that made it look like the reset symbol. _Here goes_ , Connor had thought to himself as he pressed the button.

The screen had flicked on, rapidly shifting through a series of scenes until it finally settled onto what Connor realized was the desktop, a screen with lots of smaller pictures on it, one of which was labeled Internet Explorer.

“Hey Mark, look at this,” Connor said excitedly. “It’s a computer in a box! They actually…”

Connor trailed off, staring off into a space for a moment the computer opened up the window to the internet. If it hadn’t been for- for his _former_ _teammate_ forcing him to sit down and try to follow the cables that had connected to large, part plastic and part metal modems the size of a whole wall, to learn to read punch cards and feed them into a machine, Connor wouldn’t have even known what a _keyboard_ could’ve looked like. There hadn’t exactly been a lot of computers back in Langsville, Ohio.

 

[ _“Come on man, do I have to?”_

_“Don’t be an airhead man,” Mark had said as Connor stared at the large grey columns against the wall. “You saw that UFO and Mr. Pibb. Stuff like this is going to be everywhere in the future, trust me.”_

_“If you say so,” Connor had replied cautiously. “You’ve got the mind-sight and all.”_

_“I don’t need mind-sight to know that,” Mark had told him, his corners of his lips twitching in the way that always made Connor feel his stomach flutter._

_“Show-off.”_

_“Plus, nobody but us will be coming down here for the next couple days at they get it all set up.”_

_“So?”_

_“So,” Mark had said, casually extending an arm to pull Connor against him. “You and me, an empty room…”_

_“You are ridiculous,” Connor had said as Mark kissed him softly on his neck.”_

_“You like my ridiculous.”_

_“Yeah, well, not enough to learn this.”_

_“Babe, trust me,” Mark had whispered in between kisses. “By the time we’re done in here, you’ll know these machines like the back of our hands.”]_

“You would’ve loved this,” Connor murmured, looking at the window. The top had three bars filled with buttons that he knew would take a while to try out, but the window itself had opened up to the first page of a Zoom comic. _Huh,_ Connor thought, looking over the opening panels, which seemed to be a brightly-colored, one page picture of his home in Lansing. _So Ed finally got them to publish a comic. Wonder what it’s like_.

Connor clicked on an arrow pointing to the right, guessing it would lead him to the next page.

Reading the full comic had taken an hour. A _very_ _long_ hour Connor almost wished he’d have back, if it wasn’t for the fact that he’d probably have spent them staring at the walls, bored to death.

First, Connor did _not_ appreciate the way the artists had drawn him. Sometimes he looked as old as his dad. Sometimes he looked way younger than Connor had been, like he hadn’t even hit puberty. No matter what age they always drew him with a face that was way pointier than his was, and Connor’d _never_ slicked his hair back like some kind of square trying to grease up into coolness.

All of that was before Connor saw that they’d made Jack the leader of the team, got rid of half the people they ever fought in favor of made-up mutants, and turned Connor into some kind of antiheroic, part-sidekick, brooder loner decked out in crimson— which, fair, the uniform was dark red, but it was leathery, not _spandex_.

 _Like I’d ever run around with my crotch on display like that,_ Connor had thought as he glared at a panel showing him punching someone. _I am a_ classy _cat, thank you very much._

And then Connor saw them try to draw his powers as a lot of bizarre, thin, wavy loops of white.

“What the- what am I, frickin _Sean Cassidy_?! This ain’t the X-men!” Connor had shouted at the screen. “My punches are _clear circles_ , idiots.”

Disgusted, Connor had closed the comic and –with a little haphazard button clicking— managed to pull up a page titled “Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia,” whose front page continued blue links Connor quickly realized would let him browse the different parts of the encyclopedia.

“Let’s try music,” he had said.

And that was how, two hours after he’d gotten put in the room Connor had found himself again yelling at the screen. “Seriously, computer, I can’t even get good music?” he shouted. “Like, yeah, sure, the world’s still crasy as ever and I guess the 1980s was _bogus_ , but what happened to my radio?”

“Wouldn’t any music be better than the vortex?” a voice asked. “I mean, pretty sure that swoosh-swoosh noise gets boring after a while.”

Connor looked towards the door to see one of the new team members standing there. _Geeze, they really_ are _even younger than we were,_ he thought as he looked over the kid, portly in the white uniform he apparently had chosen to stay in, with bowl-cut born hair that was practically plastered to his forehead.

 “Well yeah, but I’d appreciate it if the music wasn’t bogus,” Connor said aloud to the kid.

“We say suck now for that.”

“Fine. I’d appreciate it if it didn’t suck.”

“You and me both pal,” the kid said. “I just wanna get my dance on, you know?”

“…you wanna come in?” Connor said after a moment.

“Sure, if you’re not feeling punchy.”

Connor snorted. “Definitely not feeling that punchy,” he said, tapping the bed next to him.

“Cool,” the kid said as he came over and sat next to Connor. “I’m Tucker, by the way.”

“Yeah I remember,” Connor lied.

“Just making sure. Couldn’t tell if you heard us talking when we fought or not,” Tucker said. “So…how you doing?”

“Okay I guess?”

“Thirty years not hitting you yet?”

“Wow you’re bad at this small talk thing, huh.”

Tucker shrugged. “Haven’t had much practice yet,” he admitted, swinging his legs. “But it was either talk with you, or I stay in there and listen to Jack and Ms.  Holloway keep arguing out stuff, and I’m kinda tired from helping them make you not evil again.”

“I wasn’t evil, I was radiated.”

“Same diff.”

“They’re arguing about me, aren’t they,” Connor asked after a moment.

“Just your bank account.”

“My _what.”_

“Oh yeah,” Tucker explained. “See, it turns out that they did some funky stuff with whatever pay you were getting back then, and so now you’ve got, like, _bank_ in the bank.”

Connor blinked. “Huh,” he said at last, “guess setting up that checking account was worth it.”

“I mean, yeah, if somebody was paying me cash it’d be worth it. Why _did_ you get paid? I’m not getting paid to this. I don’t _think_ I am anyway. Hey, if they’re stiffing—”

“It was my cover,” Connor interrupted. “Superheroing as a part-time job. Minimum wage, after school, but it worked.”

“Man I can’t wait till I’m old enough to pull that off,” Tucker grumbled.

“Why, what they give you?”

“After school community service,” Tucker said disappointedly. “It’s not funny!” he added as he saw Connor break out laughing.

“It kinda is.”

“Alright, I guess it is,” Tucker said as Connor began to relax. “They’re also figuring out where you’re going to live.”

“I figured they’d want me to be here,” Connor said. “Don’t I have a place here?”

“Obviously you get a room here, it’s just who you wanna be next to.”

“Thought they’d just shuffle me into a corner or something,” Connor admitted. “It’s what they did last time.”

“Jack’s not letting that happen,” Tucker said. “He’s pretty sure you don’t want to room next to him seeing as how you’re gonna be living with him off-base, so right now they’re arguing between you keeping this room and rooming next to me and Cindy, or moving you down to the other side of the hall by Dylan and Sumer.”

Connor blinked. “They’re arguing over, what, twenty feet of floor space?”

“What can I say, you’re popular,” Tucker said, shrugging. “I’m thinking it’s the red leather suit.”

“More my killer smile and blue eyes,” Connor replied, grinning at him.

Tucker snorted. “Yeah, yeah.”

“So I’m living with my not-so-little brother off Area 52 and getting a room in Area 52 too,” Connor said after a moment. “I guess it could be worse.”

“Sure. You could still be stuck in a Vortex of Evil,” Tucker said. “Though that’s happening too. Not Gamma or anything,” he hurriedly added. “I just- you’re being re-enrolled in high school.”

Connor looked at Tucker with dismay. “I’m- but I’m-”

“Still the age of a high schooler with no diploma?”

“But I can get a GED!”

“Not what Dr. Grant says. He said you needed socialization to help you fit in more,” Tucker said. “Jack said we’re probably all the socialization you’ll ever need, but guess you need more than the four of us, so it’s back to high school you go!”

“That’s- that is-”

“I’m going to have to get Dylan to take photos for me,” Tucker said, lying back on Connor’s bed, the mattress hardly making a sound as he leaned.

“ _What_?”

“Hey, this is a big occasion! We gotta have photos! And I can’t take them since I’m in middle school—”

 _Oh wow, they just don’t look younger, they really_ are _younger,_ Connor thought despairingly.

“—and I don’t think the cheerleaders are going to let Summer take photos with the new kid that easy, so it’s gotta be Dylan,” Tucker was saying. “But hey, it won’t be that bad.

Connor groaned. “Please tell me after thirty years the food’s improved.”

“My folks say it has, but Pleasant Grove High’s public my dude, not some snobby prep place like Sacred Heart Academy.”

“…Great.”

Tucker grinned. “Welcome to the year 2006 Connor Shepard,” he said. “Go Cardinals!”


	2. Dylan

“You got this,” Connor muttered as he pulled into the parking lot. “It’s just senior year. Again.”

The past week had been a blur of creating cover stories and filling out the paperwork to justify his (not dead) existence, which had left Connor just drained and exhausted enough that he hadn’t had much time to do anything besides eat and sleep at Jack’s. It was a reality Conner was pretty sure his younger brother hadn’t missed, but had ignored in favor of pulling extra shifts at his car garage,

Which, finding out Jack had grown up to be a mechanic had been a _thing_.

 

[ _“You own a car garage.”_

_“Yes, Connor, I own a garage,” Jack had replied to his brother as Connor stared at the front of the store._

_“A garage you named Slow Jack’s Racetrack.”_

_“I was slow! I lost my powers when you got Vortexed,” Jack protested._

_“No you didn’t.”_

_“No, but— mostly. Mostly lost. Definitely when I was buying this.”_

_“’You can’t rush speed?’ Connor read as they walked up closer.”_

_“Well, you can’t,” Jack said, walking up to unlock the glass doors._

_“You’re seriously telling me that they could afford to pay you enough that you could buy a car garage,” Connor had said slowly, “but not enough to tell you that the fifties wanted their puns back?”_

_“Better get used to it,” Jack had told him. “’Cause once you get started at high school again, working here is going to be your cover job.”_

_“I can handle that,” Connor had teased his brother, walking in behind him. “My hands were always steadier than yours.”_

_“Uh huh, laugh it up, but I’ve got_ decades _of experience on you brother.”_

_“Sure, but I bet I don’t get all those aches and pains you do when it’s been a few hours, something that’s gonna come in real handy when I work on my own car.”_

_“You don’t have a car.”_

_“I have a bank account with over a_ hundred thousand _dollars in it little bro. I’m getting a car._ And _I’m old enough that_ you _won’t even have to sign off on it.”_

_“So?”_

_“So?” Connor had replied. “I’m going to walk to one of those six car dealerships out there around you, and I’m buying a sweet car.”_

_“That’s- that- okay, and where are you gonna store it?”_

_“Here, duh,” Connor had said, pointing out the front of the store to a spot next to where Jack had parked his car. “Where else?”]_

 

And even though it had taken a little bit of arguing, Connor eventually had managed to get a space reserved for the car he had eventually bought at the dealership three doors down from Jack’s. It was a Ford mustang, smooth and sleek. Connor had even got it at a discounted price unasked because apparently Jack had _not_ grown up any less a square and the dealer pitied his “nephew” having to live with him.

He’d named it Mark, because he knew Mark would’ve loved the feel of it, would’ve tried to ride into combat with it, sitting next to Connor with his portable crossbow sticking out the window just so.

It had only taken a few days Connor had stopped wincing at calling the car after his… former team partner, which he was pretty sure the Area 52 therapist Ed had forced him to see would’ve considered an impressive sign of Connor’s emotional resilience.

“How bad can it be though Mark? You just walk in, grab your locker and schedule assignment from the secretary, and head in,” Connor muttered to it as he hopped out, running a hand idly off its black coat which he’d tastefully (purposefully) dusted up enough so that nobody would recognize it was a broad new car. “You’ll probably have a rougher time sitting out here.”

 

***

 

It turned out that a lot changed in thirty years.

To begin with, Connor hadn’t just been handed a sheet from the secretary that had his schedule and his locker number typed out on it when Connor had stopped in the school’s front office. And _apparently_ there was no such thing as school secretaries anymore where students were concerned, even if the desk setup pretty much screamed that that’s what they _obviously were_. Instead, Jo Walton— whose desk had a shiny desk plate announcing Jo as the “Pleasant Grove High School Registrar”— had handed Connor a map that marked where his locker was, along with a small packet of paperwork in a red folder bearing the phrase _Pleasant Grove_ and a cardinal bird drawn on its front.

 

_[“We tried to reach Bridgeport High, but they seem to be having difficulties finding your files,” Jo had said to Connor somewhat apologetically. “Their registrar is thinking it has to do with a software update they just put on their machines.”_

_“So…”_

_“So we’re going to have to ask you and your father to get these filled out as soon as you can and return them to us,” Jo continued. “That way we can make sure you get enrolled correctly. Wouldn’t want you to miss the bus after all.”_

_“Right,” Connor had replied, resisting the urge to reply that his dad had died when he was fourteen, his “uncle” wasn’t the boss of him, and that he’d be filling it out himself. “I’ll get this back fast, but um, I’ve got a car so—”_

_“In that case let me just slide this into there,” Jo had said, hurriedly grabbing a pink form out of a drawer in the desk. “You’ll need to fill this out so we can register the car as belonging to a student here.”_

_“…okay?”_

_“Excellent! You should be all set,” Jo added after a moment. “I hope you have a pleasantly Pleasant day!”_

_“Thanks, I’m sure I will,” Connor had said with a forced smile. “I’ll just start heading down to 121—”_

_“Oh no, wait! Let me hail Sam to take you down there.”_

_“Sam?”_

_“Sam’s our security officer.”_

_Sam had turned out to be one of the kinds of guards Connor had always found grating the last time through: great at wearing the uniform, but…emotionally invested in everyone, including complete strangers who clearly didn’t want to talk with them._

  _“I know this may be weird,” Sam had said as they had walked down the high school’s plain, patchily painted hallways towards the classroom, the walk showing Connor that apparently thirty years hadn’t changed the lack of artistic hall décor in high schools. “But after what happened in Reno and Rosenberg, the county has asked us to guard the school for the first few weeks its open. Security, you know?”_

_“I dig it,” Connor had replied, causing the officer to chuckle. The conversation had soon dropped— Sam apparently convinced that Connor’s lack of emotional breakdown at being escorted meaning the young man and new student was perfectly okay— and the two of them had remained silent until they’d gotten to the door of the classroom._

_“Here’s Mrs. Prudence’s,” Sam had said as Connor had watched the teacher quietly nod at him from inside before point Connor to the back of the room. “Good luck.”]_

As he walked into the classroom, Connor quickly came to two conclusions.

First, high schools these days must have gotten _way_ bigger on tracking kids, because while he didn’t know what had gone down in Reno and wherever Rosenberg was, Connor _did_ know that thirty years before his old high school would’ve let him skip the first period and wander over to classes once his locker got settled. They had let _Marksman—_ dressed in yellow paisley bellbottoms that horribly clashed with the steel and leather crossbow he’d strap across his back— walk freely into the school and hang out with Connor under the school bleachers during the lunch, and Marksman hadn’t even _gone_ to Bridgeport.

The second conclusion, which came as Connor looked up to see where he’d be sitting, was that it appeared it wasn’t just going to be the school that was going to try keeping tabs on him. Connor was going to have to watch what he did, because there was Dylan sprawled out in the back of the classroom, the hems of his white long-sleeve and black tee slipping over the waistband of loose jeans.

Connor didn’t think it was an accident he got one of his new teammates as a classmate.

 _Possible new teammate, at least,_ Connor admitted to himself as he headed towards the back of the room. _Jack still hasn’t said if I’m going to have to report for duty or not._

“Dude, you look wiped,” Dylan muttered to Connor as he passed by him to sit in the desk to his left, sliding his backpack closer to his chair as Connor set his down. “Sam’s not that bad. Hey, first day getting you down already?”

“No, Jack got me so excited I couldn’t sleep,” Connor mumbled back, causing the other man to make a soft huffing sound that Connor figured must’ve been a choked back laugh before Dylan turned his attention to the teacher.

That had been it for social interaction through what had turned out to be English IV, as well as U.S. History and Statistics after it. Each time the teacher would point to an empty chair near the back of the room. Every time Connor would walk past a lot of bored teenage faces straight to that chair in the back of the room, where he’d settle down into the uncomfortable seat and spend the period trying to write down what notes he could to catch up two months into the school year, including what social cliques there were.

So far Connor had figured out there were still jocks. There were squares, now calling themselves “preps,” though what they had to prepare for was anybody’s guess. There were a whole lot of nerds and geeks, though they seemed to have split into a lot of smaller groups based roughly on specialty and their sense of alliance with the jocks _and_ squares. There was even a whole new species of clique calling itself the Goths and Emos, though so far all Connor had been able to figure out about them was that they wore a lot of black and had adapted the old cheerleader trick of trying to look uncaring to hide having any feelings at all as their default facial setting.

By the time Statistics was wrapping up, with the teacher giving them a reminder not to use their calculators to cheat on drawing graphs— a reminder even Connor could tell was half-hearted— Connor had managed to figure out he’d probably be able to sneak by in class clear through December with minimal effort. And that he was going to have to find someone to hang out with because so far the only person who spoke to him had been Dylan, and that…was going to be a problem.

 _Dylan wasn’t in History or Stats, and no sign of Summer either. She’s probably in the advanced classes though,_ Connor had thought as he trudged into the hall. _Girl who can make things fly with her mind, there’s no_ way _she hasn’t made it into the advanced classes._

“Well, at least Study Hall’s next,” he had grumbled aloud.

Thankfully, things started looking up when Connor reached Room 203 for Study Hall. Bracing himself to try to find an empty seat, the teacher— a Mr. Barron Battle, which was a supervillain’s name if Connor ever heard one— had instead taken one look at Connor before giving him a slip to go throw his stuff into his locker. “My own kid, Warren, hates having to cart that around, and I bet you do too,” he said, gesturing to Connor’s backpack as he gave him a bright green slip of paper.

Connor’s old high school teachers would barely admit to having gotten married, let alone to having angsty teenage children, but he wasn’t going to let the opportunity to slide by.

“Thanks Mr. Battle,” he said, grabbing the pass and immediately turning back into the hall.

From there it had been a quick walk out the classroom, down a dingily concrete staircase, across two tiled hallways, and— after a scan of the mounted, metal numbers— a short stroll near to the end of a row of lockers until Connor eventually was standing in front of his own locker. It was a faded red color, taller than him but barely half his width, and had a small, metal placard with the label “86” faded on it. _Guess I’ll be walking a lot,_ Connor thought as he quickly turned the combination on the locker and opened the door, throwing his backpack and the packet of forms from the front office to fill out inside.

“Wow, skipping out alone already,” a voice said as Connor shut it. “Lame bro. I figured you’d at least try to get through day one.”

Connor whirled around, seeing no one around him. “…Dylan?” he whispered into the empty hall.

“Dude you should see your face,” the teenager said laughing, flicking the bangs of his hair out of his eyes as he slowly faded into view. He had been leaning against the locker next to Connor’s and was grinning like he’d been enjoying watching Connor lean into his locker. “You were _totally_ ready to hit something.”

“When you’ve been ambushed as much as I have, trigger reflexes are the least you can expect.”

Dylan frowned. “Sorry,” he grumbled, kicking at the floor. “I thought Ed sent you through the whole PTSD check thing and didn’t find anything. Wouldn’t have tried to sneak up on you otherwise.”

Connor snorted. “He just wrote down I had a minor case of it, whatever it is, and said exposure to modern life should take care of it.”

“Whatever it _is_?” Dylan echoed. “You know what PTSD is. You lived during _Nam_ for Pete’s—”

“First off, I’m guessing you’re talking about shellshock, which…would explain a lot honestly. Second, _Don’t_ call it Nam,” Connor stated, glaring at him. “You- you don’t get it to call it that.”

“Right.”

“My freshman year was the year it ended,” Connor told him. “Some of my first fights on Team Zenith were over there.”

“…Oh.”

“I watched guys come home _wrecked_ by it,” Connor went on, watching as Dylan’s face grew serious. “Guys I used to look up to, watch play games and music, suddenly scared to go outside, to do much of anything. Saw folks ride motorcycles out and down Route 66 to California, saw their folks when postcards got in. It- it was—”

“No referencing the War in Vietnam,” Dylan interrupted. “Got it.”

Connor blinked. “…that’s it?”

“I’m not an idiot, okay?” Dylan asked, running a hand through his hair. “A _slacker_ , sure, but not an idiot. It’s real for you in way it’s not for any of us. I’ll watch what I say.”

“Thanks,” Connor muttered, making a note to figure out exactly what the term slacker meant now.

“But I gotta warn you, some of the jocks are going to joke about it,” Dylan told him. “And somehow I don’t think they’re gonna buy you being almost fifty as a reason to quit.”

Connor groaned, laying his head on his locker. _Of course they would_ , he thought.

“Yeah, jocks, I _know_ ,” Dylan said, sounding sympathetic. “But hey, bright side. Pretty much everything’s a joke now. So, you know. Meh. Whatever. Forget them.”

“I- okay, honestly, I don’t know if I can handle dealing with that today.”

“Your morning was _that_ _bad_?”

“I mean, it was bad enough having to sit through a teacher rambling on _East of Eden_ the _first_ time around, the second time isn’t any better. And U.S. History? How many times do I need to learn who George Washington was? How does _nobody know_ who George Washington _is_ by senior year _?_ ”

 “ _Right_?”

“Stats at least was kinda new,” Connor admitted. “We didn’t have that back at Bridgeport, but it felt like it was never going to end. And I- I just don’t want to sit around dealing with people today on top of it.”

“Well, what do you got left?”

“Hmmm?”

“What classes are left?” Dylan asked again.

“Ah…Study Hall, Gym, and Art,” Connor said, remembering the schedule that now rested in the locker with the rest of his stuff.

“Art?”

“Ed picked it. Said it be therapeutic.”

Dylan rolled his eyes. “You wanna skip out?”

Connor turned his head to look at the younger man. “Weren’t you making fun of me for doing that like five minutes ago?”

“I was for doing it _alone_ ,” Dylan said. “Totally different if you’re with someone. I mean, I know what it’s like to get overwhelmed.”

“Yeah?”

Dylan shrugged. “Had to find out I had the super power to turn invisible somehow, so…if you really want to head to the mall or something, we can—”

“Let’s book it,” Connor interrupted. “Maybe it’ll cheer me up enough to get through Gym.”

 

***

 

“So what do you think? Lunch first, or window shop?” Connor asked.

“Ah, we’re kinda in the middle of the food court man,” Dylan said, gesturing around him. “I’m thinking we oughta eat first. You ever eat at Panda Express?”

“Pretty sure we didn’t have it back then,” Connor replied, gazing across the court at the image of a giant panda in a circle of red and white.

“That is a travesty of American teenage life and we’re gonna fix that right now,” Dylan told him. “Come on. To the Panda!”

“Please tell me it’s not, like, really weird experimental food stuff.”

“No, it’s a mix of American Chinese and _Chinese_ Chinese food,” Dylan told him as the pair walked over towards the corner of the court where the giant panda in a circle was lit-up, with the words _Panda Express_ written to the right of it, the sign itself hanging above where a buffet line was. “They brag about the orange chicken, but honestly anything’s good.”

“Hey, at least it’s food,” Connor replied as they got in line. “Jack cooks like our parents.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning anything that’s not meatloaf or deli food would be great.”

Dylan laughed, a rich, deep sound that Connor felt wash over him. “Yeah, I can see him being horrible at cooking.”

“He’s better at the milkshakes. Fast stirring, you know?”

“Can’t say I’ve had any yet. Totally should fix that, though we should probably not tell Tucker about ‘em.”

“You should,” Connor said, not sure how many milkshakes Tucker must’ve gone through for that to have been a concern, but pretty sure the number wasn’t enough to warrant concern from the other teenager. “So…”

“Yeah, hey,” Dylan was saying to a woman who stood behind the counter, dressed in a red t-shirt and black apron that had the same panda emblazoned on it. “If I could get fried rice, black pepper chicken, beef broccoli, and an egg roll. Thanks. Growing boy you know,” he then said to Connor.

“I—”

“Fried rice or chow mein?”

Connor quickly turned to see another woman, also dressed in the same outfit. “Ah, chow mein?” he said.

“Chow mein?”

“Yes.”

“And what entrees?”

“Orange Chicken,” Connor replied, remembering what Dylan had said. “And the-the honey walnut shrimp. And an eggroll too.”

“Shrimp huh? Wouldn’t have pegged you for a seafood man,” Dylan teased. “You _do_ live life on the edge.”

“Hey, live and let die man.”

“Wow, Bond, really?”

“What? It just- _is_ a classic,” Connor quickly corrected, belatedly realizing that what to him had only just come out a few years back must’ve been very old.

“It is,” Dylan replied, sounding cautious as he shuffled along down the counter towards the cash register, Connor following behind him. “Thinking of doing a re-watch before _Casino Royale_ comes out in a couple months?”

“I think so,” Connor said, hoping he sounded surer than he felt. “I want to brush up, if you know what I mean.”

“Oh I know. I do a Bond marathon every year in winter.”

“Right on.”

“Yeah,” Dylan laughed. “Hey, for real though, wanna do one with me before the movie comes out? We can set a screen up in front of my bunk, maybe chill out with some popcorn?” Dylan said, winking.

Connor didn’t answer, opting instead to grab his food from the tray it had been put on.

“Together?” the cashier asked.

“Yes. I got it,” Connor added to Dylan, hurriedly handing the cashier the debit card Ed had issued him when they gave Connor access to his bank account.

“Thank you,” the cashier said before handing Connor his card and a piece paper he assumed was the receipt. “Have a great day.”

“Thanks,” Dylan said, grabbing his own tray. “Next time’s on me.”

“Pretty sure I’ve got way more cash than you to burn.”

“Yeah, but I’m not letting you pay _every_ time. I’m not that easy a date.”

Connor almost froze where he stood. “Oh yeah?” he said hurriedly, hoping Dylan hadn’t noticed his pause as the two of them sat down at an empty table across from each other.

“Yeah,” Dylan said. “A way to a man may be through his stomach, but it takes more than lunch to get me.”

“Good to know you’ve got some standards.”

“Summer _definitely_ wouldn’t let you buy me with food. She’d say you’re being very old-fashioned.”

Connor snorted. “Yeah, I kinda guessed that,” he said.

“You know we’re dating.”

Connor hadn’t known. “Someone’s always dating someone,” he told Dylan carefully around biting into a shockingly sweet and sticky piece of chicken. “Jack and I both were seeing people back in the day. I figured Tucker isn’t seeing anyone.”

“He’d be telling everyone if he was.”

“And I’m pretty sure Cindy’s too young to be thinking about dating anyone,” Connor continued. “So that just leaves you and Summer.”

“Dating by process of elimination. How very logical of you.”

“Yeah we did do that whole logic thing back in the Seventies. Saved us a lot of time and awkward questions.”

“So…who were you with?”

“Hmm?”

“You said,” Dylan said after swallowing a spoonful of fried rice, “you and Shep-Jack were both dating folks.”

“Yeah?”

“So who was your date?” Dylan asked. “Was it Ace? I know she ended up for a while with Jack, but you seem like a guy who’d enjoy someone who could get a little rough with you.”

“ _What the_ \- _no_ , are you _kidding_ me, she’s- she _was_ way not my type. No, she dated Jack. Always. I daa—“

“D’Ah?” Dylan asked. “Don’t recall hearing about that one.”

 _Oh Bummer,_ Connor thought. _Well, let’s just get this over with._ “I was dating Mark.”

“Mark…Marksman?”

“Yes.”

“Wow.”

“Is that a problem?” Connor asked after a moment.

“What, no?” Dylan said hurriedly. “Just…trying to figure out how that worked.”

“ _Really_ righteously,” Connor smirked. “Like, believe me, that whole big, tall, dark and handsome thing was _right on_ when it came to—”

“ _No_ , not that, the- I mean, I’d hope _that_ worked,” Dylan haltingly interrupted.

“Then wha- oh, you mean the hiding thing,” Connor sighed. “I mean, yeah we had to sneak around a lot—”

“—didn’t want the military and the jocks to know?”

“—didn’t want _Jack_ to know,” Connor corrected. “But it was good. Mark was sweet.”

Dylan smirked. “Sweet?”

“Yeah,” Connor said wistfully, feeling himself smile goofily. “I mean, in combat he was mean and lethal, but outside of it He- he was so _smart_ , you know? Had this way of explaining things to everyone, like they deserved to be in the know. Always knew how I felt, when to step in and step back. He spent a whole month teaching me how to use computers, and I felt…”

“Like you belonged together?” Dylan finished. “Like it was destiny?”

“He used to joke the best shot he ever made was when he shot Cupid’s dart right at me.”

“Ouch,” Dylan said, wincing.

Connor blinked. “What?”

“Dude, I’m- oh, hold up,” Dylan said, pulling the small phone Connor had learned was called a cellphone out of his pocket. “Hello? Uh-huh- uh-huh- I- yeah, I’ll tell him. It’s the Sixties calling,” he told Connor, putting a hand over the phone’s speaker. “They want their flower child sappiness back.”

“Oh really?” Connor replied. “Funny, ‘cause I think the only hippie here is sitting right across from me.”

“You sure?” Dylan teased back. “Because I’m pretty sure my mind-sight is telling me that’s so not true, oh friend of Dorothy.”

Connor felt himself grow warm. “Yeah, that’s almost exactly what he’d say then,” he said.

“Oh yeah, that’s right,” Dylan said. “Marksman had the mind-sight too.”

“Mark did alright. Didn’t have much excuse to use it in combat, since most of the time we already knew what we were getting into, but he, ah, used to use it to find shag spots for us.”

Dylan threw his head back, groaning. “That— why didn’t _I_ think of that?”

“Because your girlfriend’s psychic and could easily do the same thing?”

“She’s telekinetic, not psychic,” Dylan corrected. “Though she can pick up on feelings every once in a while. No, it’s ‘cause she’s a cheerleader, and that’s just _tacky_ even if dating a slacker is acceptable when he looks like me.”

“Like you?”

“Oh don’t tell me you can’t see the hotness.”

Connor narrowed his eyes. “You know,” he said slowly, pretending to be examining him. “I think I can maybe, just maybe see it? It’s that thing buried underneath all the hair product.”

Dylan snorted. “Dude, my man, these wavy brown locks are all natural,” he said, slouching back in his chair.  “And so’s the rest of me. You’re more than welcome to check it out.”

“And that’s another thing Mark would say,” Connor said, beginning to wonder about how strongly the two resembled each other. “Mostly when Daravia would complain about being a third wheel on the team.

“See, this? This tells me I really ought’ve met the guy,” Dylan said. “Probably knew some tricks I’d like.”

“No tricks,” Connor said automatically. “Just me.”


	3. Summer

“Alright, one more time,” Jack was saying to them right in front of the split hallways. “Dylan and I are going to go down the hallway on the right towards the command center. Cindy, you and Tucker are going to go left towards the lab. Summer and Connor are going to go to the UFO. First person to find where Ms. Holloway hid with the stealth helmet on and get her to sneak out with us gets to choose where we’re taking her to lunch. And no Tucker,” Jack added as the kid raised his hand, “it won’t be Wendy’s.”

“What is wrong with Wendy’s?”

“Come on, for Holloway it’s at least gotta be Friendly’s,” Dylan teased.

“We’d have to go to Massachusetts for that—” Jack began.

“But isn’t she worth it for a nutty sundae?”

“She- we’re _not_ doing it. Yes Cindy?”

“Mr. Shepard,” Cindy said, putting her hand back down. “I just want say that I think it’s nice we’re taking Ms. Holloway to lunch.”

“Thank you for that Cindy. Any other comments or questions?”

“Hey Con, you got something to say?” Dylan asked.

“Nah,” Connor replied, enjoying the brief flash of panic that had crossed over Jack’s face. “I think I’ll save the raggin’ for when Summer and I pick where we’re going.”

“We’re picking together?” Summer asked him, looking amused.

Connor shrugged. “I trust your taste,” he told her.

“Well then, in that case, let’s go!” Jack said, beginning to run down the hall.

“Dude, slow down!” Dylan said, running after him.

“Cindy, wait up!” Tucker said at the same time as he tried to follow the six-year old girl down the other hallway.

“Shall we?” Connor asked, gesturing behind him with a thumb.

“After you,” said Summer.

Connor sighed as they began to walk down the hallway back towards where the elevator to the garage was. They hadn’t had much time to bond either as team members or as classmates. There hadn’t been any missions since Jack had told him General Larraby was insisting Connor work with the team (which Connor honestly hadn’t minded, all things considered), and since the semester had started ending they all barely got to see each other anyway.

And, truth be told, that was probably a good thing. Connor hadn’t remembered exams taking _so much time_ , but between Dylan complaining about not being able to spend time with Summer and Jack cutting his hours because apparently Connor had to do better than just pass, Connor was pretty sure everyone was exhausted. Even Tucker and Cindy seemed tired, though what they had to deal with Connor didn’t know since they hadn’t had time to talk.

_No wonder Jackie’s squeezing in a food run as a training exercise,_ Connor thought as he went. _If I didn’t live with him and have class with Dylan, none of us would even know if the other was alive._

“What?” Summer asked suddenly.

“Nothing,” Connor told her. “I’m fine.”

“Fine like aces, or fine like ‘feelings inside, not expressing ‘em?’”

“…I have never heard of that, but I’m pretty sure you’d pick up on me being unhappy.”

“Right,” she whispered.

“So...do this often?” Connor asked after a moment.

“What, walk to the garage?”

“No, training exercises that involve walking to the garage,” Connor said. “I mean, I’ve only been around for a couple months. Don’t know if I should be, like, _doing_ something right now or—“

“Honestly? This is the first time we’ve done a training exercise that wasn’t ‘grab the ball off the merry-go-round before the BB guns cover you in paintball pellets’ or doing drylands.”

“They _fired_ at you?”

“Not- it was airsoft guns,” Summer clarified. “But they’re modified to come out these vent things.”

“So not cool.”

“It really, really wasn’t.”

“Jackie must’ve been _nuts_ sending you through that.”

“He kinda didn’t?” Summer told him as the pair turned a corner into another hall. “General Larraby told him to, but that was back in Jack’s angry, depressed, ‘I’m a burnt out former superhero’ days, so mostly we went with Holloway and Jack would show up later.”

“Larraby probably thought that’s what getting hit by one of my concussion blasts feels like,” Connor grumbled.

“Doesn’t it? I mean, I’ve never been hit by it or anything, obviously,” Summer clarified. “I just saw red rings fly by the last time around.”

“From my end it feels like when you slam a door too hard: a little extra push forward, followed by a loud thump,” Connor told her. “Don’t know how it feels like. Daravia used to say that it felt like what went on in her mind when she tried to float something, only smacking her in the face.”

“Aww.”

“What?”

Summer laughed. “If Daravia’s power was anything like mine, I can tell you she meant it feels like when you fall face-forward into your mattress.”

“Don’t tell me that,” Connor said wincing.

“Why? Isn’t it nice to know you’re pillow fighting crime?”

“I prefer to save my pillow fighting for my bo-eau.”

“You can say boyfriend, it’s okay.”

“…You _know_?”

“I asked Dylan why you didn’t seem to check out any of other cheerleaders or me the way practically every other guy in school does, and he told me,” she said simply. “Wanted me to keep an ear out just in case I heard anything.”

“And did you?” Connor asked curiously. “Hear anything, I mean.”

Summer shook her head. “Just a lot of my fellow cheerleaders pining over the new quiet, broody, super-smart bad boy who sits in the back of the class like it’s too easy to be worth his time when he could be paying attention to any one of them instead.”

Connor felt him himself flush. “Didn’t know so many people were watching me. Or wanting me to watch them back, I guess?”

“They are, and they do. A lot. In fact,” she teased as the pair of them began to come into view of the elevator, “Sandra was telling me the other day that she hopes you’d try out for the _Brigadoon_ production Drama’s putting in. She thinks you’d look awfully nice in a kilt.”

“Get real.”

“I mean.”

“No, I— really? You’re not yanking my chain or anything?”

“Really! So many hearts will break when they find out you’re not interested in—”

“Do they need to?” Connor asked, coming to a stop in front of the elevator as Summer pushed the button on the panel to summon one.

“No, but- I kinda figured you’d _want_ to, eventually?”

“Yeah, but—” Connor began, only to be cut off by a light ding as the elevator arrived, the doors parting in the middle to let them walk in.

“But?” Summer asked as once they’d gotten into the elevator, Connor this time being the one to hit the button to send them down to the garage.

“Nothing.”

“Oh come on, give me the lowdown,” Summer said. “It’s not like there’s anybody else here, and Dylan wasn’t exactly saying much.”

“Look it’s— I’ve been here a few months, and yeah, things seem pretty okay,” Connor told her. “Like, I’m not lost or anything. Jackie’s an okay roommate, and you two are pretty quiet at the end of our hall, so I’m settling in well. Dylan’s got a sharp humor thing, but it makes class fly, and I’m pretty sure I’ve caught up on enough pop culture thanks to him and this internet thing that I should be okay…”

“And…?”

“And if I was born in this day and age, yeah, I’m pretty sure I’d be trying to find someone and coming out?” Connor continued. “There are Gay Straight Alliances and online blogging communities, I’m pretty sure I could find something. But I’m- I’m not.”

“Why, because you’re from the Seventies?”

“Ah, yeah? Like, really, I’m almost fifty.”

“Thirty of those years don’t count,” Summer told him. ”You didn’t live any of them.”

_Sheesh, this fox,_ Connor thought to himself. “But it still kinda does,” he insisted. “I mean, do I care about Troy and Gabriella’s star-crossed romance? No. No I don’t.”

“Oh come on, Zac Efron’s hot.”

“ _Zac_ might be, but _Troy_ ’s an airhead.”

“So what, your old classmates didn’t tell you to stick to the Status Quo?”

“No,” Connor said honestly. “They had their own issues to deal with, and everybody knew you didn’t narc on who was out under the bleachers. Back than I- _we_ , we just tried to hide it from Jack, because that’d be weird. But otherwise it wasn’t exactly like I was subtle about the part where I’d be running out of school to hop on the backend of a sweet motorcycle with the buffest guy around for a ride.”

Summer sighed. “There is a decided lack of boys like that in our school, true,” she said.

“I noticed,” Connor replied dryly. “You’re dating the only one who even comes close.”

“Dylan’s that good-looking?”

“Well, _yeah_. He’s got that whole care-free hippie surfer vibe.”

“ _Hippie_ vibe?”

“That’s what I said.”

“And some folks go for that, I guess.”

“Don’t _you_ go for that?” Connor asked her.

Summer smiled. “No, actually, I-I find the cool guy routine kinda annoying,” she admitted to him. “Got bullied by a lot of guys like that before I joined Zenith. No, I started dating him because he’s sweet when you least expect it.”

“I wouldn’t know about Dylan being like that, obviously,” Connor said after a moment. “But Mark was too, to me at least. Course, he’s dead now.”

Summer glanced at him. “Have any of us said anything about apologizing for that by the way?”

“For them being dead?”

“Yeah.”

“…Dylan has. Sorta.”

Summer sighed. “My boyfriend ladies and gentlemen,” she muttered, staring at the silvery sheen of the metal doors in front of her. “Well, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry that they drove you insane and that you lost…practically everything in the aftermath.”

“Thanks,” Connor huffed. “That-that got me right here in the heart.”

Summer laughed. “…So sweet huh?”

“Ace was too, but she wound up having to play up being rough and tough a lot.”

“Yeah?’

“Mmhmm,” Connor hummed. “Ace was younger than Dara, and a lot of people would judge her for going around fighting on a superhero team.”

“Nobody ever judged you or Mark?”

Connor shrugged. “I was the older brother of a golden boy, working a rad job. Nobody judged me. And anybody who judged Mark got shot with a bolt of steel.”

“You must miss him.”

“You have _no_ idea.”

“I kinda do. Feelings, remember?”

“…right.”

“Sometimes, the way the other cheerleader talk about their boyfriends, it…makes me wonder how much Dylan really likes me and how much the _idea_ of me, to be honest,” Summer admitted. “Like, he loves to give me flowers and kiss me, and I love that about him, but he…and I know it’s not the same as your boyfriend being _dead_ , but…”

“But there’s something missing, and missing can feel like dead,” Connor finished.

“Yeah.”

“Want me to talk to him about it? I’m pretty sure I can get around that sharp ‘too cool for feelings’ thing he does.”

Summer shook her head. “If we’re going to do this, if we’re going to date each other, then we need to be the ones to figure it out.”

“Still, if it bothers you…”

“It doesn’t, but thanks,” Summer said. “It- it doesn’t bother you to see us together, does it?”

“Wh- huh?”

“I mean, he’s mentioned you find him a lot like Mark in the past, so I totally understand if—”

“Bother _me_? No,” Connor insisted as the elevator came to a stop. “No. Why would I be- I mean- does it bother _you_ when we hang out?”

“Connor—”

“’Cause I swear, nothing went down during the James bond thing, for real—”

“Connor, I’m just asking,” Summer said reassuringly. “You don’t have to panic.”

“I’m _not_ panicking.”

“Again, I _can_ pick up on feelings Connor,” Summer told him as the elevator doors opened into the garage, which seemed to be empty except for the UFO that Tucker had named Amy for reasons nobody but Cindy seemed to have figured out. “It’s rare, but you’re emoting pretty hard.”

“How about you pick up Holloway instead?” Connor whispered to her suddenly.

Summer froze where she stood in the garage. “You sure she’s in here?” she whispered back, one of her hands coming up to play with the end of her necklace.

Connor nodded, and pointed down at the floor near the exit of the hangar, where a particularly human-shaped shadow stood pointedly out from the line of shadows cast by the boxes around them.

Summer smiled and, after winking at Connor to show she saw what he saw, turned to look at the boxes. Connor watched as slowly the human-shaped shadow shrunk as Summer stared at where the body would’ve been, the shadow shrinking until, after what had felt like a few seconds, it suddenly vanished. Instead there was a soft tearing noise, almost like the sound of a Velcro-strap being removed.

“Okay, _okay_ Summer, you found me,” a voice shouted out just as the body of Marsha Holloway appeared over the line of boxes. “Now put me down.”

“Jack said we should come and get you,” Summer yelled back to her.

“What?”

“I _said—”_

“No, I heard you the first time, but _why?_ ”

“Can you maybe walk towards us instead of shouting?” Connor replied to her.

“Oh- sure,” Holloway shouted as she began to walk towards them.

“Tucker is going to be _so_ mad,” Summer whispered, making Connor snort.

“Better start thinking of where you want to go,” he replied as he watched Holloway walk towards her. She had kept her hair down and her glasses off, and not for the first time Connor found himself thinking that she almost looked a little bit like Ace’s mom. _Leave it to Jack to have a type_ , he thought ruefully.

“So why does Mr. Shepard want me?” she said when she was close enough.

“Jackie’s taking you to lunch, Marsha,” Connor told her.

“We _all_ are,” Summer said, glancing at Connor as if surprised that he would use her first name. “Like, it’s not- you know-”

“Oh! _Oh_ ,” Holloway said slowly. “I- I mean, I guess that’s nice of him, but isn’t he supposed to be training you all?”

“This is the training,” Connor said. “The finding you part. The rest is the reward.”

Holloway sighed. “You know, when I first signed up to work here, I didn’t realize how much food was going to be involved in the job,” she muttered.

“Hey you know what they say about growing boys,” Summer teased.

“On behalf of the menfolk, please don’t judge us based on our appetites,” Connor told her. “Especially Dylan.”

“Dylan’s?”

“Look, I know you’ve seen the horror show that is him at an all-you-can eat.” 

“Yeah, I’m totally going to judge all of you for your eating habits,” Holloway said as the three of them began to walk out of the garage. “Where _exactly_ are we going anyway?”

“We’re supposed to pick,” Summer said. “Or at least, I am, since Connor asked me to. Do you have any ideas?”

“Sonic could be good right about now. Drive-thru, great milkshakes,” Holloway explained to Connor. “We won’t have to change or anything.”

“And maybe Jack’ll get you to wear his old letterman’s jacket,” Connor teased.

“Yeah I— wait, he doesn’t _actually_ have a jacket like that, right?”


	4. Cindy

“Would you like more tea Laird Connor?”

“If you would be so kind Princess Cindy,” Connor said, holding up a plastic pink tea cup.

 _This is nice_ , Connor thought as he watched the young lady, carefully lifting a kettle up and pouring him a new cup of tea, absently flinging back the veil falling from the tip of her tiara. _Definitely a change of pace_.

 

***

 

Winter had turned out to be not so great.

Connor had managed to get through the end of the semester, with its annoying, repetitive classwork and homework, though even Jack had had to admit that Connor had made an _awe-inspiring_ portfolio to turn in for Art. His grades had turned out strong enough that Mr.  Morrison, the high school college counselor, had started calling him and Jack about getting Connor to try to take the SAT next month and start applying to colleges, even though Connor had told him he was going to be taking a gap year.

 

[ _“Can’t the guy take a hint?” Connor had asked Jack after hanging up the house phone for the eighth time. “I’m not going to bomb-rush going to college.”_

_“He’s got a point though Connor,” Jack said. “Most kids your age—”_

_“My_ fake _age you mean—”_

_“Go to college now. Or at least they do some volunteer trip thing or something.”_

_“How about I, I don’t know, work here and superhero for a year?”_

_“Oh yeah, because working at a car garage is the bright future Connor Shepard spent all his life dreaming about.”_

_“Why not? You did Jackie.”_

_“I like fast things and not dealing with idiots, obviously I’d dig a car shop,” Jack said. “You aren’t like that.”_

_“All I can say is, right now? The only thing I want is to not sit through a test I never thought I’d have to take, for an education and a degree I wasn’t sure I’d get anyway, for a future I had no way of realizing I’d have,” Connor had told his brother. “And let me tell you, even if I do end up going to college? Pretty sure I could spin a mission or three into a killer admissions essay way easier than making something up about how life changing high school was.”_

_“Oh, let me guess, I’d be the killer this time?”_

_“Only if you annoy me with Mom’s cooking for the next year.”_

_Jack had scoffed. “Hey, you learn how to cook, and I won’t.”]_

The college stuff hadn’t stopped there. All of Connor’s classmates seemed obsessed with the topic, except for Dylan (“dude I’m doing community college, there’s nothing to worry about”) and Summer (“I already accepted Ohio State.”) It was obnoxious enough that Connor had actually wound up trying out for the _Brigadoon_ thing Summer had mentioned during their one and only exam-time training exercise, only to get cast by the director into playing one of the two lead male roles. A role which had meant Connor wound up spending a good chunk of his winter break—the first time he’d seen snow and celebrate _any_ winter holiday in thirty years— memorizing lines and learning how to _sing_.

It was horrifying.

But the bright-side, besides no longer having any spare time to worry about anything vaguely related to the future, was that it turned out Sandra had been right. Connor did look good in a kilt. _Really_ good, if he thought so himself, although even Connor had been surprised at just how long an amount of time it had taken him to convince the girls doing wardrobe that Connor did, in fact, need to wear shorts under it on stage.

The whole play and acting thing was looking good, but felt draining, and then to top it off, Connor learned from Jack that the folks at New Zenith were debating trying to _rename_ the team so that it wouldn’t get confused with Connor’s old one.

 

_[“Are you serious?” Connor had asked as he and Jack wrapped up the last of the gift cards they were giving everyone on the team._

_“They think calling it the Zenith team is insensitive to your trauma,” Jack replied._

_“So’s trying to make decisions about me without involving me, but here we are.”_

_“Yes. Anyway—”_

_“Do they have any other names in mind?”_

_“What?”_

_“Names. What do they want to replace New Zenith with?”_

_“…They haven’t gotten that far yet,” Jack admitted sheepishly._

_“JACK!”]_

It was all a bit overwhelming, and so when Cindy had invited Connor to a tea party of all things for Valentine’s Day, Connor had enthusiastically said yes. Not so much because Connor had actually _expected_ tea with the littlest member of the (technically still, soon-to-be nameless) New Zenith Team to be a grand experience. Rather, it was because after months of Irish jigging, hot chocolate, cider, candy, and a never ending stream of movies (why ABCfamily felt the need for twenty-five _days_ of Christmas films Connor _still_ didn’t get), life had gotten so bizarre that trying to drown everything in a teacup was the best escape Connor could think of.

Connor had been surprised though when Cindy’s invite was followed by a formal invitation on a card with flowers drawn on it, the inside instructing him to wear formal and swing by turned out to be an actual tea shop. But now that he was sitting in the tea shop, Connor felt happy he had said yes.

“It would be my pleasure to pour you tea,” Cindy told him. “That is a lovely kilt by the way.”

“Oh, thank you,” Connor said. “Rehearsals went late, so I didn’t get a chance to change.”

“Well, I think you look nice in it.”

“And I think your tiara looks lovely.”

“Why thank you,” Cindy said. “The lady at the front said I should put it down because the veil would get in the way, but I told her a princess must always wear her tiara in public.”

“You are absolutely right. We wouldn’t Her Highness to be underdressed.

“Not to mention it keeps my hair out of my eyes,” she whispered, pointing at the prongs of the tiara that had pinned back her blonde hair. “I’d hate to be squinting all the time. Oh look, the sandwiches are coming!”

“Would you look at that,” Connor said, smiling at the hostess as she laid a large plate with sandwiches artfully arranged onto the center of the table. “You should choose first, of course.”

“Of course. You know, I’m glad you came,” Cindy told him as she grabbed a sandwich. “You have such refined manners.”

“My mom made sure to teach me and Jack table manners. You never know when you’ll be dining with fine society,” Connor told her as he grabbed a sandwich he figured was some kind of cheese and cucumber thing and put it onto the tiny plate his place at the table had been set with. “Though I’m a little surprised it’s just us, to be honest. I would’ve thought Her Highness would’ve been in greater demand. Sir Tucker alone would’ve been happy to appear.”

“Sir Tucker had to go with his family to see his grandparents, though he said he’d have been here if he could. I thought about inviting Mr. Shepard and Ms. Holloway, but I thought that might be a little much—”

 _For us all,_ Connor thought to himself.

 “And I did invite Summer and Dylan, and they were coming at first—”

“…but?”

“Well, then they, you know…”

Connor shook his head. “I’m afraid I don’t.”

Cindy’s eyes widened. Quickly glancing around the room, she leaned over and whispered, “ _They broke up.”_

Connor gasped. “No,” he said, hoping Cindy didn’t realize the surprise in his voice was truer than it sounded.

“It _is_ quite a scandal, my bonnie Laird Connor,” Cindy stated. “I’m not sure what caused it, but I know they did because Dylan told me he didn’t want to come today if Summer was because he thought it would make things too awkward. But then I couldn’t convince _Summer_ that Dylan had changed his mind because _she_ said that she was very certain he’d be here.”

“I—”

“Who’d be here?” a voice said, causing the two to look up and see Dylan standing by their table. His brown hair had been pulled back, leaving a few bare bangs to frame his face, and Connor couldn’t help noticing that the suit Dylan had chosen was slim, with a cut that hugged the young man’s chest and trailed down its sides very flatteringly.

 _He’s…dressed sharp_ , Connor thought to himself as he scanned over the other man. _Really, really sharp. Almost_ fabulously _sharp._

“Why you Lord Dylan,” Cindy said. “Laird Connor and I were just—”

“—about to try some of the tea sandwiches,” Connor hurriedly interrupted. “Please, sit.”

“Thank you, I will,” Dylan said, pulling a chair from a nearby empty table and placing it to the right of Cindy’s, causing Connor to shuffle down so that there’d be room for Dylan to sit down on Connor’s left. “What tea are we having?”

“We are drinking Perfect Princess Tea,” Cindy informed him. “It’s a lovely vanilla and rose mix.”

“And, with Her Highness’ permission, I am drinking Scottish afternoon tea,” Connor added. “It’s a mix of black, but it tastes a little mellower than the breakfast version.”

Dylan blinked. “In that case, I’ll ask the hostess here if she can bring me some Welsh tea,” he said, signaling the hostess.” And do I see a peanut butter tea sandwich on that?”

“I’m sure they could be so obliged,” Cindy informed him. “And yes, it is. There’s also cucumber and cream cheese sandwiches on the plate as well.”

“Ah a hostess who knows how to give actual food,” Dylan said appreciatively, picking up a sandwich and putting it on his place. “So, Princess Cindy, how goes things in the kingdom?”

“Very well, thank you,” Cindy told him. “The King and Queen are both in excellent health.”

“That is great to hear,” Connor said while Dylan gave his order to the hostess, who had approached while Cindy spoke. “It would be terrible thing if they weren’t.”

“Yes it would.”

“And how is first grade going?” Dylan asked her.

“Mostly well. It is a fairly light study, not as hard as our work as superheroes, but the royal tutors are well pleased with my progress.”

“And are _you_ pleased with it?”

Cindy sighed. “I would be more so if Brendan would behave himself,” she admitted, sipping on her cup of tea.

“Brendan?”

“Was that the boy who was in the play with you?” Connor asked, vaguely remembering the little boy with glasses that had started in surprise at Cindy using her super-strength to haul him up Rapunzel’s tower.

“Why yes, Laird Connor,” Cindy said, sounding pleasantly surprised. “You have an excellent memory.”

“It’s a little hard to forget your debut as an actress. At least, seeing you perform was the first time I’ve seen anyone on the stage in a long time.”

“I’m guessing Jack was the last time?” Dylan asked him.

“Did Mr. Shepard act?” Cindy asked.

“Yes, it was, and he did indeed,” Connor told them. “Jack was in many plays, but if you ask me his best was his performance as Prince Florian in Snow White.”

“I thought his name was Charming,” Dylan said.

“It’s not,” Connor said, repressing the urge to wince at the memory of Jack arguing about it with him. “I promise you it’s really, _really_ not.”

“Did Mr. Shepard’s performance win him many admirers?” Cindy asked.

“Oh yes, though he didn’t have any problems with them,” Connor said, sneaking in a sip of tea in between his words. “Lady Ace was most…persuasive in assuring others that he was well-taken.”

“I wish Lady Ace was still here with us then, so that she could tell me how to get Brendan to accept that the play’s _over_.”

“As do I your Highness. Ah, that is—”

“Want me and Connor to speak with him?” Dylan asked her, hurriedly swallowing the bite of sandwich he had taken. “I’ve got no problem with—”

“No, though I do thank you Lord Dylan,” Cindy said hurriedly. “A princess can take care of such matters herself. It just would’ve been nice to know—”

“Right hook to the face,” Connor interrupted. “That’s how Ace dealt with it.”

“Ace _clocked_ people?” Dylan asked.

 _He sounds like he liked that._  “Ace was never a fan of subtlety,” Connor said to him aloud. “She used to say her kindness wasn’t weakness, and she had two fists to prove that with.”

“Huh.”

“Jack actually thought her bluntness was a good thing.”

Dylan rolled his eyes. “Yeah, of course he did.”

“I think the royal tutors would frown upon me punching my classmates,” Cindy said thoughtfully. “Though I suppose if it looked like an accident…”

“Now _that’s_ talking like a New Zenither,“ Dylan told her.

“If we’re still called that,” Connor muttered.

“Of course, me, I’d aim for gym, cause— wait, what do you mean if we’re _still called that_?”

“Ed- um, _Doctor Grant_ told me they were thinking of renaming the team.”

“We’re getting a new name?” Cindy asked Connor excitedly. “What is it?”

“I don’t know. They hadn’t decided yet when they told me.”

“Oh I do so hope we get to pick it then. We’re _much_ better with names.”

“Jack wanted to name us Strong Girl and Invisiteen,” Dylan explained to Connor.

“Jackie wanted to name me Big Boomer,” Connor said flatly.

“ _Wow_.”

“Yeah.”

“I think they should call us the Supers,” Cindy said. “Because we are.”

“I think that’s an excellent name,” Dylan said as the hostess arrived with his tea.

“I’m glad you agree Lord Dylan,” Cindy replied, picking up a sandwich. “Do recommend it to them if you get the chance.”

For a moment there was silent at the table as the trio ate finger sandwiches and drank tea.

“I beg your pardon your Highness,” Connor said after finishing his cup, “but it occurs to me that we never asked Lord Dylan how his own affairs are going.”

“Oh dear!” Cindy exclaimed. “Yes, do tell us everything.”

Dylan shrugged. “Not much is happening. Waiting to graduate, figuring out what I’ll be doing next year. Pretty much the same as you _Laird_ Connor,” he teased.

“Lady Summer must have an opinion on that,” Connor said, hoping he didn’t sound like he was prying.

“Ah, I’m afraid I must admit that my courtship of Lady Summer has been…indefinitely suspended,” Dylan said slowly.

“We are sorry to hear that,” Cindy told him, glancing at Connor.

Dylan shook his head. “It was an amicable parting,” he said to them. “She is leaving here after graduating, and I am not. It wouldn’t have worked well for either of us.”

“I think that is very wise, but is there anything we can do to cheer you up?”

“You’d be surprised at how…saddening it isn’t,” Dylan confessed, sounding slightly bitter to Connor. “But in terms of things to do, spending time with you is more than enough.”

“Then we will do stuff like this more often,” Cindy proclaimed. “Maybe after training?”

“I’ll be happy to sneak us into the sundae and ice cream bar in the instructors lounge,” Connor offered. 

“There’s an ice cream bar and you’re just _now_ telling us?” Dylan asked him.

 “We could have an ice cream social!” Cindy shouted gleefully.

“Nobody asked! And yes, we could have one,” Connor pointed out. “It’s not like the ice cream’s been entirely eaten up.”

“That- okay, I will accept that invitation,” Dylan said, “on one condition.”

“What?”

“You wear that when we go see _Epic Movie_ next week,” Dylan said, gesturing at Connor’s kilt.

Connor rolled his eyes. “Why, are you going to wear that suit?”

“You’ll see why when we see the movie,” Dylan told him. “And no, I’m not wearing this—”

“—let me guess, does it mess with your slacker reputation?” Connor asked, happy that he had eventually, after several months of observation, managed to figure out what the term meant now.

“—because I _am_ going to wear this to Prom.”

“You’re going to see a movie?” Cindy asked before Connor could ask the other teenager why he was wearing his Prom outfit early, because he was pretty sure that wasn’t something that you were supposed to do.

Connor nodded. “We’ve…actually seen a lot of movies together,” Connor admitted. “Mostly at his house, though once in his room at Area 52.”

“I’ve got the better TV screen,” Dylan told Cindy smugly.

“But why didn’t you invite me?” Cindy asked, sounding sad.

“The movies we watch are…a bit too mature for your Highness,” Connor told her, trying not to imagine how Cindy would’ve reacted to the _James Bond_  marathon him and Dylan had done last fall, or the _Lord of the Rings_ one they’d managed to squeeze in around celebrating New Year’s Eve with their families. “But I promise, if we ever watch one we think the King and Queen wouldn’t mind sharing with you, we’ll be sure to invite you.”

“Really?”

“Of course,” Dylan said. “In fact, here, how about you join us to see a couple flicks this summer?”

“Okay,” Cindy said amicably. “But do you mind taking pictures when you go see _Epic Movie_?”

“Of the movie?”

“No, of you!” Cindy giggled. “I’m trying to fill up my photo wall in my room. I’ve got lots of photos of Summer, Tucker, Mr. Shepard, Ms. Holloway, even Dr. Grant and Mr. Pibb, but I don’t really have any of you two yet.”

“What do you say Connor?” Dylan asked. “Ice cream da-ytrip in exchange for a photo-documented kilted movie outing?”

 _Did-did he almost call it a date?_ Connor wondered. _I think he almost called it a date._

“Deal,” Connor said aloud.


	5. Jack

“Connor, stop fidgeting,” Jack said. “It’s only Prom.”

“Yeah, I _know_ ,” Connor said, adjusting his tie. “I just want to—”

“Look good, sure, but you keep twisting that tie and it’s gonna fray.”

Connor sighed. “You do get that I haven’t done this before, right?” he asked his brother, who was sitting on the couch in the living room watching Connor fiddle with his jacket in the hallway by the front door. “I got Vortexed before we reached this part of my senior year. Like, I have no memories of this place.”

“You’re _not_ going to get vortexed tonight, and did you seriously have to quote Gandalf at me?” Jack told him, getting up from the couch.

“You don’t know that, and yes.”

“Ah no, and I do. First off, I’m chaperoning tonight—”

“Don’t remind me—”

“Second, you’re going _stag,”_ Jack finished. “There’s no one to impress, unless you got a hot date lined up there. And between Mom’s table etiquette lessons and you dancing all winter, there’s no way you can embarrass yourself that bad tonight.”

“I wish I had a hot date lined up,” Connor muttered to himself.

“Why don’t you, by the way?”

“I—didn’t see anyone I wanted to ask,” Connor told him honestly.

Not that there hadn’t been offers. Sandra _and_ Summer had both asked him out, for wildly different reasons, and even Connor had noticed the number of cheerleaders and theater girls— who otherwise seemed mostly to ignore him— that had started trying to hang out near his end of the lockers.

It had been hard to miss, honestly: the number had gone _way_ up, more than it had gotten even the week after he’d hung up his kilt in wardrobe.

But Connor hadn’t asked or said yes to any of them. Not to Sandra, because it would be lying to her about her chances. And not to Summer because…well, he figured she deserved better than to fake date someone at the prom, something he was proven right about when Chris Knight— who, Connor soon found out, was one of the more athletic geeks in school and was also on his way to Ohio State— had asked her out instead.

Meanwhile, Connor had done spent spring watching superhero films with Dylan, and they had even gone together to Cindy’s ice cream social. Dylan had gotten a strawberry-vanilla twist that he gracefully licked up before it could drip onto the floor, and Connor had stared at Dylan like he was one cliché away from trying to subtly-not-so-subtly lick it out of Dylan’s mouth.

“No one? Come on, the guys can’t _all_ be ugly at that school,” Jack told him as he grabbed his own coat from where he’d dropped it on the stairs.

“You’d be surprised,” Connor said absently, until he realized— “wait. _Wait_ , you- you know—”

“That you’re gay? _Duh_ ,” Jack said, opening the front door towards where Connor’s car was park. “You and Mark really weren’t _that_ subtle on missions.”

Connor stared at his brother.

“Seriously, you weren’t!” Jack insisted, shuffling Connor outside. “I didn’t wanna bring it up back then because, yeah, I don’t ever want to imagine you having sex with _anyone_ , thanks, but it’s not like I didn’t see you checking out Mark’s…everything. Repeatedly. In front of me. _All the time._ ”

“Oh,” Connor said quietly. “I— guess that’s one thing we don’t have to deal with.”

“Nope,” Jack said. “And that’s also why we’re taking your car, because I ain’t staying in that gym for one second longer than I have to and I _will_ _not_ let you ditch me for a guy at the Prom.”

“There isn’t gonna be one.”

“Connor, We’re Shepards. There’s gonna be one.”

 

***

 

The Class of 2007 Prom Committee for Pleasant Grove High School had decided that the theme for Prom should be a “Spy Casino” theme, playing both off the Lucky Sevens and 007 puns the seniors had been hearing for months. It hadn’t been a relatively easy decision to make— there were a few members who had been pulling hard for a beach theme— but in the end the motion had carried, and the decorators, caterers, live band, and a nearby reception hall normally used only for weddings due to its excellent view of the surrounding countryside had all been booked.

Connor hadn’t heard any of this. In fact, it was only when Connor had walked inside—after Jack had dropped him off in front, saying he’d park Connor’s car in the back before joining the other chaperones— that Connor saw the red and black streamers hanging from the ceiling and realized what the theme was.

“Ah,” he said unsurely to who he guessed was a photographer the yearbook staff must’ve hired.

“Yeah, you’re going to match _real_ well,” the photographer replied as he looked at Connor’s red shirt, black tie, black jacket set up. “Care to go whole-hog and Bond the photo?”

“Sure…” Connor drawled, opting to ignore what sounded like an abuse of the English language to slowly walking over and stand in front of a swirling, gun barrel-esque backdrop that someone had hung opposite a large camera station. “Any particular pose you want me to do?

“Whatever you want,” he said. “I’ll be here all night, so you can do more later on if you change your mind.”

“Okay.” Connor looked at the backdrop for a second before putting his left foot forward and, dropping his weight onto his back right, gripped his two hands in front of him like his index fingers were going to shoot the photographer.

“Wow, the Roger Moore version,” he heard the photographer mutter to himself as he clicked a button, the flash momentarily blinding Connor. “Haven’t seen that in a while.”

“The classics never die man,” a voice said, and turning his head Connor saw Dylan walk in, his hair and suit the way it had been months back when he’d joined Connor and Cindy for tea, only this time his shirt wasn’t the white it had been but an emerald green color, with—

“Paisley?” Connor asked Dylan as he stepped out of range of the camera. “You’re wearing a _yellow paisley_ tie?”

“Yep,” Dylan said as he came forward before suddenly dropping to one knee and flinging one hand out, his fingers flicking out to turn the shape of his fist into a pistol.

“Lazenby?” Connor asked as the photographer took his photo.

“Like I said, classics never die,” Dylan replied smugly as he turned to wink at Connor, and for a brief moment Connor found himself wishing for…for something he hadn’t since Mark had pressed him against the side of a high-school bleacher a lifetime ago.

“Yeah, they-they don’t,” he managed to stammer out.

“Say, wanna grab seats?” Dylan asked him, slowly tugging Connor after him into the ballroom that, Connor was unsurprised to see, had in fact been redecorated into a giant casino lounge. “We stags gotta stick together you know.”

“I’ll sit wherever you are.

“Awesome,” Dylan told him, grabbing Connor’s hand to pull him after him, Dylan’s hand feeling surprisingly, distractingly warm against Connor’s. It was distracting enough that Connor didn’t really pay attention as he followed Dylan across the room to a table that was both located near an entrance to what Connor guessed was a balcony of sorts and had seemed to have a good view of the entryway where their classmates would be walking in.

“Best view in the house,” Dylan said, pulling out Connor’s chair.

“Thanks,” Connor told him as he sat down.

“No prob Con.”

“Con?”

Dylan shrugged. “It’s about time you got yourself a nickname that wasn’t a codename,” he said. “Besides, it _is_ a spy theme.”

“Well, if I’m Con, then you must be…”

“Lucky.”

“You might be if you play your cards right.”

_He- I just- right, so, this is how flirting feels like again,_ Connor thought haltingly to himself as he watched Dylan laugh. _Okay. Okay, Connor you can do this_.

 

***

 

“Man, it’s an hour into this thing, and it’s _still lame_ ,” Dylan complained.

“Might help if the music started up,” Connor said, poking at what was left of the dinner on his plate. Their table had never filled up— a lot hadn’t, as apparently most of the seniors had preferred to have dinner elsewhere before coming— but it had been an easy, unremarkable meal.

Connor didn’t mind admitting that having the company he had had helped a great deal with that. Dylan had been… _Dylan_. One moment asking Connor about English (“seriously, is it just me, or is Mrs. P phoning it in? Like, you can’t just tell a bunch of jocks to act out Othello in _May_ ), then about their next movie night (“you gotta see the X-men trilogy man, it’s- it’s practically required now), and never _once_ asking Connor about summer or missions or the future. 

It was light, easy, breezy, and Connor loved every second of it.

“Yeah, I’m going to see about that,” Dylan said, getting up from the table.

“You’re gonna _what_?” Connor asked as he saw Dylan walk over towards the band, just as the doors opened and Summer walked in. She was dressed in a velvet purple hippie gown whose hemline swung broadly across the floor and was almost too formal for Prom, and Connor watched as she looked around the room until she saw him, a smile breaking on her face as she and her date walked over.

“Connor, have you met Chris?” she asked him, pointing to her date.

“I don’t think so,” Connor said, stretching out a hand as he quickly scanned over the other man.

“Pleasure’s mine,” Chris said.

_Spiky blonde hair, blue eyes. Skin that clearly needs reminding that the sun still shines outside. Not a threat,_ Connor thought as he shook hands. “Any friend of Summer’s a friend of mine.”

“Summer you came!”

“Of course,” she said, turning to give Dylan a hug. “Like I’d leave you two hanging here, alone, at Prom. _People_ would _talk_.”

“They’re going to be talking _anyway_ ,” Connor said, glancing at Chris. “Dylan, this is—”

“Chris, hey,” Dylan said, reaching out a hand. “Missed you at dinner.”

“’Cause we actually _had_ one,” Chris said laughing. “You and Connor here good?”

“Oh Con and me are just fine. We managed to work our way past the photographer thing like a couple of silver bullets—”

“Yeah, what’s with that by the way?”

“You okay Connor?” Summer whispered to him. “You seem flushed.”

“Just give me a second,” Connor whispered back as he watched Dylan and Chris talk. “Water went down the wrong pipe.”

“Uh-huh,” she said, just as the band began to start playing music. “Hey guys, we’re going out on the dance floor for a bit.”

“Yeah, sure,” Chris said, leaning over to kiss Summer on the cheek. “Just remember, the first _actual_ song is mine.”

Summer laughed. “Right,” she said to him as she casually pulled Connor with her onto the floor. By the time they’d walked into the center of it, mere seconds later, the band had managed to warm up into what Connor swore sounded like some slow version of Teddy Geiger, a name he only knew from the sheer number times the radio had kept playing his song over the past month.

“You’re a good dancer,” Summer said a few moments after they started to sway in the center. “Practice much?”

“Not really,” Connor admitted.

“Oh, so, you just remember from last time.”

“No I, ah, kinda got sucked into the Vortex before making it to my Prom?”

“…I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Don’t be. I mean, you already apologized once,” Connor pointed out. “And it’s not like I could’ve gone. No, this is from spending all winter jigging. Thanks for that, by the way.”

“You’re welcome, but why couldn’t you- oh, because of Mark,” she murmured.

Connor nodded. “My classmates wouldn’t have cared, but the principal would’ve. Don’t know what we would’ve done since we’d have to act like a couple of closet disco queens, but, well, here I am.”

“You know, I know it’s been a year, with…surprising little superheroing to do on any large scale level,” Summer said, “but can I say congrats on surviving it all with surprisingly little signs of trauma?”

“Thanks, but ah, I’m pretty sure all the trauma’s going with you to Ohio.”

“Chris is something, that’s true,” Summer laughed. “And _way_ less broody than Dylan was, though Chris’s pretty chill too.”

“Oh really?”

Summer nodded. “He has bunny slippers,” she confessed.

“Bunny slippers?”

“With a matching bunny bathrobe.”

“ _Please_ tell me Cindy has a picture of you in it on her wall,” Connor teased.

“Yes she does,” Summer told him. “It’s right next to the one of her in her pink bunny outfit and Jack in his Bugs Bunny one.”

“Easter was a thing, wasn’t it,” Connor said ruefully, remembering the sight of Jack trying to do an Easter egg hunt training exercise around the car garage.

“Mmhmm,” Summer hummed. “So, feel like telling me why you choked back there?”

Connor blinked. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“When Dylan made the silver bullet remark.”

“Oh that,” Connor said, feeling his face flush. “It’s ah…the phrase meant something else the last time I did high school.”

“Something naughty?”

“It meant you were a virgin,” Connor mumbled, causing Summer to snicker. “What, it’s true!”

“Oh Connor,” Summer said at last. “You’ve been a teenager _twice_ now, and you _still_ haven’t figured out what’s on guys’ minds at Prom.”

“Okay, first off, as a guy, I resent that,” Connor told her. “I was perfectly aware of what was on _my_ mind then. It just- it wasn’t a thought I needed to know _other_ guys were having. I had one after all.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re finding out now what every teen girl ever has figured out by ninth grade,” Summer said as the band began to wind down. “I mean, I know it’s hard not having your old team and Mark around, but I’m _really_ happy you’ve got a life here too, and I hope you know that. Like, you have Dylan and me, for real.”

“I do, and it’s— you know, I don’t miss those days as much anymore?” Connor reassured her. “Plenty of new memories here, and all.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Plus, to be honest, having to play a guy who gets stuck in a lost Irish city kinda helped me with the whole _learning to not do that_ , especially since there wasn’t much about the Vortex to be remembering anyhow. It was just grey and painful. Easily forgotten in the end, it turns out.”

“Still, for all it’s worth, I’m glad you figured out how to get things together,” she said, stepping out of Connor’s arms. “We better go rejoin our dates though.”

“Should we?”

“People really will begin to gossip about us being together if we stay out here whispering any longer.”

“Hey, a hot foursome isn’t _exactly_ a problem,” Connor joked, making Summer laugh as he led her back off the floor. “Though…you _should_ know that Dylan’s not my—”

“Connor, you have my permission,” Summer interrupted. “And believe me, he’s willing. At least, I’m pretty sure he’s willing.”

“…Yeah?”

Summer nodded. “If it helps, he told me back when we started dating that he was bisexual,” she hurriedly whispered to him as they drew closer to the table. “So it’s not- I don’t _think_ it’s just a one-off, ‘try it out’ kinda deal or something like that.”

“Thank you,” Connor whispered back, pulling out her chair for her to sit down in before sitting down himself.

“Nice moves out there,” Chris said to Connor. “Gonna be tough to beat.”

“Pretty sure we’re two songs away from the Cha-Cha Slide,” Dylan replied to him as Connor walked around the table to sit down next to Dylan.

“Then what are we sitting here for? Let’s go warm up,” Chris said, rising.

“I just sat down,” Summer pointed out.

“Oh come on!”

“You and Summer head out,” Dylan said. “We’ll meet you there.”

Chris looked back and forth between Connor and Dylan. “Yeah?” he said, sounding surprisingly approving to Connor.

Dylan nodded. “Yeah, just need to speak to this guy for a second.”

“Might want to use the balcony then,” Summer said as she got back up, shooting Connor an apologetic look in response to what Connor was sure was a look of mild panic on his face. “It’ll be pretty quiet out there.”

“Great idea!” Dylan told her. “You game Con Man?”

“I’ll follow your lead Lucky Strike.”

“Lucky Strike,” Chris chuckled. “Wow, you guys came up with your own spy names for this.”

“Oh yeah,” Connor said as he got up to follow Dylan out the back door onto the balcony. “Go big or go home, right?”

“Maybe we should do that,” Chris told Summer.

“Pretty sure there’s no—”

“Q’ute and Pretty Penny,” Dylan said hurriedly.

“Thank you Lucky,” Summer said.

“Yeah thanks,” Chris said, turning and pulling Summer gently behind him.

“Q’ute?” Connor asked Dylan as the pair turned towards the door, Dylan looking both ways before casually turning the latch to let them sleep out.

“It’s a perfectly respectable name.”

“Yeah, but wasn’t Q’ute a _girl_?”

“Hey, I may like the guy, but not about to give him a _complete_ free pass,” Dylan admitted as he stepped out onto the balcony after Connor, careful to shut the door behind them once they stood outside. “And it’s not like anyone else is going to know enough James Bond to pick it up.”

Connor chuckled. “Right,” he said as he looked around the balcony. It wasn’t large— barely enough to hold four or five people, and rectangular, the kind of balcony clearly meant just for someone wanting to catch a breath of air or have a quick smoke rather than engaging in any actual kind of milling. “So, you wanted to tell me something?”

Dylan huffed. “Yeah, I…okay, bear with me, because, surprise! I’m not actually great at this part.”

“That’s- okay…?”

“I…so, we’ve hung out a lot this year,” Dylan started. “And I know this is probably a wacky thing to say, but um…I kinda…sorta want to…you know.”

“Was there a sentence somewhere in that stammering Lucky Strike?”

“ _Dude_ —”

“I’m just checking because I can’t, I can’t actually—”

“I’m already—”

“Like, I’m not psychic, and I don’t have the mind-sight to scope—”

“ _Will you please just date me already_?” Dylan blurted out, his words causing Connor to fall silent. “It’s just, you’re awesome, and funny, and smart, and _wicked_ hot, and I’ve kinda wanted to know how you kiss for months since you curled up against me in your sweatpants during that whole Arwen talking to Aragorn thing in Two Towers, and I just…I really, _really_ want to date you. So hard.”

“…I wasn’t expecting that,” Connor mumbled.

“Well, how about this?” Dylan said, stepping towards Connor.

Connor was just about to ask what that meant when Dylan kissed him, lips sliding across his like they could _melt_. Nobody had kissed him like that since— since so long ago, with soft lips and hands sliding down to pull Connor closer, with heat and fissures of want crackling, fissures Connor forced himself to restrain before he accidentally blew up the balcony with a concussive blast.

Connor could almost feel himself vibrate with the strength of it.

_Oh…oh wait_. “I, ah, sorry,” Connor said, breaking the kiss to speak to Dylan, opening eyes that had Connor discovered had fluttered shut to look at the other man. “It’s just, my pants are vibrating.”

“They’re- huh?” Dylan said, shaking his head as if he needed the gesture to focus again.

“Yeah, it’s,” Connor reached into his pocket and pulled out his cellphone. “I just—one second.”

“Of course. Who is it?”

Connor sighed. “Jackie,” he said, turning the phone so that Dylan could read the small text on the screen that said _I s2g if u 2 don’t get back in here RITE NOW >:(_

“Jack’s chaperoning, isn’t he.”

“Yeah.”

Dylan sighed. “Okay, in that case, let me just kiss you one more time and then we can go in.

“If you play nice for a bit we could probably leave whenever you want.” Connor told him.

“Whenever?”

“Jack can run home.”

“In that case,” Dylan said, reaching out a hand to grab Connor’s belt, “kiss me, dip and dance me for like an hour, and then we’ll do after-prom together at your place.”

“Gladly,” Connor said, grinning as he leaned into Dylan and kissed him again.

And this time, Connor didn’t have to hold back at all.


End file.
